I like driving in my car! (Part Seven)

The bizarre situation regarding my insurance company not renewing my policy although I’d paid for it continued for some time, with various argument going back and forth about who’s fault it was, and consequently they wouldn’t authorise the repairs to be carried out to my car until the policy had been renewed. An endless number of phone calls ensued until eventually the car was repaired, but not before I had been forced to hire a car in the meantime, the bill for which I eventually sent to my insurance company for them to settle. I was extremely fortunate in that I managed to get the hire car at a good rate through my employers, and in the end they actually paid for it anyway, but I still insisted the insurance company reimburse me for the full amount just because of the principle involved. They eventually only coughed up a measly £150 towards the total cost of £400 for the hire car, but by this time I was exhausted from continually arguing with them and accepted the cheque. My bad luck was on a roll, however, as when I eventually went to collect my car I discovered that the front bumper had been damaged, something which hadn’t occurred as a result of the attempted theft. I could only assume that the damage had occurred either en route to or in the repair shop, and so this instigated another chain of arguments with the owner of the garage. Although he maintained that he didn’t cause the damage, he offered to pay half toward the repair cost, and as this was a semi-positive gesture in amongst my sea of bad luck, I quickly accepted his offer.

Another positive outcome from this situation was that I negotiated a good deal with the repair shop owner to get some other general body repairs completed which I was to pay for myself. Although the car was generally in excellent condition, it did had various small rust spots dotted about the bodywork as a result of the car having spent most of its life by the sea. This included replacing the bonnet which had the most rust on it, and all-in-all I paid £500 to get the car back to near perfect condition. I actually went on holiday whilst the work was being carried out, and had a nice surprise on my return when I phoned up the garage to arrange to collect the car. Apparently the owner had been away for a few days and left instructions as to what was to be done to my car, but his underlings had misinterpreted his instructions and had proceeded to get rid of all the rust spots and also re-spray the entire car! I was absolutely gob-smacked but at the same time insanely excited at the prospect of seeing the car, and immediately rushed down to Purley to collect it. Needless to say I was drooling when I saw it as it looked as if it had just rolled off the production line, and the feeling of being able to drive it again after nearly two months was almost required a change of underwear.

During the time I owned my second GT Turbo, I managed to notch up another 6 points on my licence, something I was neither proud of nor pleased about. The situation came to a head when I was caught by a speed camera doing 42mph in a 30mph zone on the way to a gig near Aylesbury. I’d actually forgotten about this particular incident until I received a notice in the post telling me that I’d been caught, and as this took my total up to the magic 12 points I had to own up and face the consequences. Because the last offence was in Aylesbury, it was Aylesbury County Court who summoned me to appear in court for prosecution, so it was on 4^th June 1999 that I had to make the long journey there by train, only just making it in time to Marylebone Station in order to catch the last possible train to get to Aylesbury. I finally reached the court a few minutes before I was due to appear before the magistrate, only to be told that I was actually supposed to go to Buckingham Court which was about 15 or 20 miles away. I’d stupidly assumed that because the summons came from Aylesbury then that was where I was supposed to go, but when I eventually arrived home and looked at the original notification I realised that it did in fact say Buckingham Court. Anyway, Buckingham conveniently doesn’t have a railway station so I had to make the journey by bus across country, a route which seemed to go all round the bloody houses through every single village in Buckinghamshire before I eventually reached my destination an hour late.

By this time I wasn’t feeling too confident as to the outcome of my hearing, but I was very fortunate in the end to come away with a 6-month ban and £100 fine, though this was mostly down to me pleading poverty and being as humble as I possibly could. My sister had my car for the next few months as her old banger had recently expired, and although I had every confidence in my sister as a driver, I was ridiculously protective towards my car to the point where I gave her instructions on how to drive it properly. That may sound a bit silly but I was conscious of the fact that it being a turbocharged car, you have to wait for the engine to reach running temperature before really zooming around in it, and you also have to leave the engine to idle for about 30 seconds before switching it off to allow the turbocharger to come to rest. I missed my car terribly during this period; even the fact that I had to be ferried to gigs for 6 months and could therefore get pissed on every occasion didn’t really make up for me having severe withdrawal symptoms. I would visit my sister regularly so I could clean the car, as I knew from experiencing her own cars over the years that she took little or no care in keeping them clean and tidy. I have to say that as much as I felt no pride in being banned from driving for, I was proud of myself for sticking to my ban and not driving once during that period, other than turning my car round on my sister’s driveway whilst I was washing it one Saturday. On 2^nd December 1999 my sister drove my car back to my flat, and there it sat until the morning of 4^th December when I drove it to work for the first time in 6 months. It was a strange feeling, almost an anti-climax in a way as I had expected it to feel wonderful, but it was just as though it had never happened.

For the next year and a half I enjoyed my GT Turbo and it gave me no trouble aside from the ongoing clutch cable problem which by this time I’d accepted as part and parcel of the car. The only nagging doubt I began to have was the fact that the fuel economy was absolutely diabolical, something which had already put a severe strain on my bank balance, and there was also the added burden of my insurance premium which had now grown to a stratospheric £1300 due to my conviction. Although my licence was in effect clean once more, I had to declare my conviction which pushed the premium up to this ridiculous amount. By this time I was living with my partner Martin who not only disliked my car but was also concerned at its spectacularly crappy build quality and consequent failure in the safety department. This coupled with the extra expense which we now shared prompted me to put the car up for sale, though it was something I did very reluctantly. By this time there was an added problem as a fault had occurred with the gearbox which resulted in the engine continually slipping out of fifth gear, but as this was so expensive to put right I had no option but to try to sell the car as it was, though my conscience made me come clean about the gearbox.

I expected the car to appeal only to boy racer types, and indeed the only person who bothered to come and look at the car was the person I eventually sold it to. Because I was so attached to the car I was concerned that it would go to someone who was going to thrash the hell out of it, and even though it wasn’t going to be my problem once I’d sold it I still wanted to sell it to someone who would show it some care and respect. The young lad who bought it was only 17 and had only just passed his driving test, but he was so enthusiastic about the car and keeping in its original condition that this gave me some piece of mind. His dad had driven him all the way down from Oxford to see it, and in fact they had to drive all the way from Oxford again the following week to collect the car after he had got the money together and organised the insurance. As much as I knew that what I was doing was for the best, I was absolutely heartbroken when I saw my beautiful car for the last time as it was driven away, and I don’t mind admitting that I actually did shed a tear at that moment. This car had literally been the love of my life for the previous three years, and although it had cost me my licence for 6 months plus all the expense of running and insuring it, I loved it to bits. I was also gutted because I had meant to take some nice photos of the car before I sold it but I forgot, so I’ve had to cobble some odd pictures together here. The photo with the red Ford Escort and the roadster replica in my previous post is my car, but the rest are photos of identical cars which I’ve scoured the internet to find. I may not have many pictures of my car but at least I’ll always have my memories.

I still miss my beloved GT Turbo to this day.

Anyway, there’s still one more chapter of my motoring life to recount to you, one which will bring me up to the present day, but I’m sure the revelation of what I drive these days will be a bit of a disappointment……………..